Page 15

Klutch

I never take women to meet my parents. Ever.

It’s a rule I’ve lived by since I started fucking around at sixteen.

Why get their hopes up? Why make Ma think some chick is special when she’s just a warm body to get my rocks off with?

But as I guide my bike onto the tree-lined street where I grew up, Blue’s arms wrapped tight around my waist, I’m breaking that rule for the first time in my life.

And it scares the living shit out of me.

Not that I’d ever admit it. But this thing with Demi is moving fast. Five days ago, she was just a sexy waitress at The Underground. Now she’s practically living in my suite at the clubhouse, wearing my shirts to bed, and leaving her girly shit all over my bathroom counter.

I should hate it; should be running for the fucking hills. Instead, I’m taking her to Sunday dinner at my parents’ house like she’s my old lady or something.

“This is where you grew up?” Demi shouts over the rumble of my bike as we pull into the driveway of my childhood home.

I cut the engine and put down the kickstand. “It is.”

She climbs off the bike, removes my helmet, and shakes out her long dark hair. I can’t help but watch the way it falls around her shoulders. She’s fucking beautiful.

“It’s nice,” she says, smoothing down her sundress. “It’s… normal.”

I snort. “What were you expecting?”

She rolls her eyes, but her smile is nervous. “I don’t know, but it wasn’t this.” She waves her hand out indicating the two-story with white vinyl siding, navy shutters, and a bright red door isn’t what she pictured.

I chuckle. “Fair enough.” Even I can see my parents’ house is very cookie cutter.

“Do I look okay?” Demi bends at the knees and uses the mirror on my bike to check her hair.

“You look sexy as fuck.”

“I can’t believe I let you talk me into this. We’re not even dating.” She huffs.

“If you want hearts and flowers, baby, I’ll give you hearts and flowers. But know this.” I step into her space and pull her body flush with mine. “You’re mine. I know it. You know it. And they’ll know it the second they clap eyes on you.” I smirk. This shit is moving fast, but fuck it.

The front door swings open and my mother rushes out, her face split with a grin that makes her eyes crinkle at the corners.

“Mijo!” she calls, arms already open.

I let go of Demi and bend down to hug my mother’s tiny frame. “Hey, Ma.”

She pulls back, her dark eyes immediately shifting to Demi. “And you must be Demi.” Without waiting for a response, she pulls Blue into a hug that seems to catch her off guard. “I’m Melina. I’ve heard so much about you.”

“You have?” Demi asks, shooting me a look over my mother’s shoulder.

I shrug. Can’t help that my Ma has ways of getting information out of me. The CIA don’t have shit on her. One phone call asking why I haven’t been by for dinner, and suddenly I’m telling her about the blue-eyed girl who’s been sleeping in my bed.

“Come in, come in,” Ma ushers us inside. “David! They’re here!”

My father appears from the kitchen, wiping his hands on a dish towel. Unlike my mother’s warm welcome, he stands back, assessing Demi with narrowed eyes before they flick to me.

“Pop,” I nod in greeting.

“Son.” He extends his hand to Demi. “So you’re the girl.”

“Dad,” I warn, but Demi just smiles and takes his hand.

“It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Sánchez.”

“Call me Swift,” he tells her. “Everyone does.”

I watch the exchange with a tightness in my chest. My father is a tough nut to crack. As the former SAA of our club, he’s seen the worst of humanity and trusts almost no one outside the brotherhood. The fact that he’s even attempting to be civil is a miracle.

“Dinner’s almost ready,” Ma announces. “Demi, why don’t you come help me in the kitchen while the men have a drink?”

Before I can protest, my mother has linked her arm through Demi’s and is guiding her away. I move to follow, but my father’s hand on my shoulder stops me.

“Let them be,” he says. “Your mother’s been dying to get that girl alone since you mentioned her name.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” I mutter.

Pop laughs, shaking his head. “Come on. I’ve got some good whiskey hiding from your mother in my office.”

I follow him down the hall to the small room that serves as his sanctuary. He opens a drawer in his desk and pulls out a bottle of Johnnie Walker Blue Label and two glasses.

“So,” he says as he pours, “this one’s different.”

She is, but he already knows that. “Yeah.”

He hands me a glass. “How different?”

I take a sip, the expensive whiskey burning as it slides down my throat. “I don’t know, Pop.”

“Bullshit,” he calls me out on my bullshit. “You’ve never brought a woman home before. Not once in twelve years. Now suddenly you’re showing up with this girl on your arm like she’s your fucking salvation.”

I stare into my glass, unable to meet his eyes. “Can’t explain it.” I shrug. “I just know that she’s mine.”

“She has trouble written all over her.” He leans against his desk, fixing me with a hard stare. “Titan’s been digging. Her old man’s mixed up with some dangerous people.”

I knock back the rest of my whiskey and set the glass down. “What do you want me to say, Pop? That I’ll walk away? Leave her to deal with this shit on her own?”

He studies me for a long moment. “Would you? Could you walk away from her if I told you it was for the good of the club?”

The question hits me like a sucker punch. A month ago, the answer would have been simple. The club comes first. Always. It’s what I was raised to believe, what I’ve always lived by.

But now? The thought of walking away from Demi makes me feel homicidal.

“I can protect her and serve the club,” I finally say. “Those things aren’t mutually exclusive.”

My father’s expression softens. “You love her.”

I open my mouth to deny it, but the words stick in my throat. Am I in love with Demi? I don’t know. I’ve never been in love before. “I don’t know what I am,” I admit. “But I know I’m not walking away.”

Pop nods slowly. “Then you better be prepared for what’s coming.”

Before I can ask what he means, we hear laughter from the kitchen. My mother’s musical chuckle mixed with Demi’s softer one.

“We should rescue your girl before your mother starts planning your wedding,” Pop says, clapping me on the shoulder.

We find them in the kitchen, Demi chopping vegetables while my mother stirs something on the stove. They’re talking animatedly, and I catch the tail end of a story about me as a kid.

“—covered head to toe in mud, crying because he couldn’t find his toy car!” Ma finishes, sending Demi into another fit of giggles.

“Ma,” I groan. “Seriously?”

She turns, a mischievous glint in her eye. “What? Demi wants to know all about little David.”

I roll my eyes. No one calls me David except my mother and the government.

“You two look cozy,” I observe, moving to stand behind Demi. I can’t help but place my hand on the small of her back, a possessive gesture that doesn’t go unnoticed by my mother.

Her eyes twinkle with approval. “Demi’s a natural in the kitchen. Unlike someone I know who can barely boil water.”

“I can cook,” I protest.

Demi turns to look at me, eyebrow raised. “You’ve never cooked for me.”

“That’s because we always get takeout.”

“Hmm,” my mother hums disapprovingly. “A girl needs a home-cooked meal now and then, mijo.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” I promise, my eyes still on Demi.